Day 106 – Scam, Sponsors, Caste Plates, and a Quiet Night in Ranasar
Late Start from Gadra Road
Day 106 began later than usual in Gadra Road. The delay was for a good reason: a close friend of mine had been scammed, and the entire morning went into making sure the money was recovered. Only by around 2 PM was the issue finally resolved and the amount returned, giving me the mental space to focus on the road again. As I rolled out, a random uncle stopped me at the main circle and asked, “Did you have lunch?” When he heard I had not, he immediately took me to a nearby restaurant and sponsored my meal. That unexpected act of kindness set the tone for the day.
Wherever I go, the same scene repeats: the moment I stop, people gather. Around my cycle and Bhairava’s trolley, they circle like honeybees, curious about the bags, the dog, and the journey. After lunch, I cooked egg rice for Bhairava right there, answering questions as people watched and smiled. Once he finished eating and curled up content, I pointed my handlebar towards Hasani and started moving again through the open desert roads.
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Caste On Number Plates and a Warm Welcome
On the way, while I was feeding Bhairava, one man pulled up on his bike. I casually noticed his number plate: instead of just numbers, it proudly carried his caste name, “Makad,” painted on it. It was a small but sharp reminder of how deeply caste identity is worn and displayed in this region—not just in conversations, but even on vehicles.
By evening, I reached Ranasar, a village that would become my home for the night. There I met a very active and talkative little boy named Salman. His energy was contagious, and we quickly got into a friendly chitchat about my cycle, my dog, and where I was heading next. The village sarpanch soon joined us and, with the straightforward affection common in rural Rajasthan, told me, “You should stay here tonight.” When invitations come from such genuine places, I accept them almost every time; in about 90% of these situations, my “okay” is simply a response to their love.
Night Fire, Bajra Rotis, and Simple Joy
As the evening deepened, more characters entered the frame. A group of painters arrived and started decorating the front panels of tractors with bright colours and patterns, turning work machines into moving art. Another man came and parked his bicycle nearby; it had a metal number plate fixed to it, clearly taken from somewhere else and repurposed for the cycle. Little details like that say so much about village creativity and reuse.
Soon, villagers gathered around a small fire. We sat in a circle, talking about the journey, the dog, their work, the weather, and life in general. In the middle of this, a random man appeared carrying a tiffin box filled to the brim—bajra rotis, curd-based curry, and buttermilk. That became my dinner, while Bhairava got his own share of care in the form of rice and egg. Under the open sky of Ranasar, with the fire crackling and conversations flowing, Day 106 ended simply and beautifully.
It was a day that began with a digital scam and police memories from the previous night, but it settled into something softer: sponsored lunch from a stranger, children’s laughter, the reality of caste worn on number plates, and a village evening where firelight and bajra roti made the desert feel like home.
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